The Vandyck commanded the staircase, attracting immediate attention, as it faced the principal entry.  In the wide space between the two great windows were two portraits of equal size; the famous Sir Peter Crewys, by Lely, painted to resemble, as nearly as possible, his royal master, in dress and attitude; and his brother Timothy, by Kneller.

Farmer Timothy’s small, shrewd, grey eyes appeared to follow the gazer all over the hall; and his sober wearing apparel, a plain green coat without collar or cape, contrasted effectively with the cavalier’s laced doublet and feathered hat.

Gone were the Early Victorian portraits; gone the big glass cases of stuffed birds and weasels; gone the round mahogany table, the waxen bouquets, and the horsehair chairs.  The ancient tapestry beside the carven balustrade of the staircase remained, but it had been cleaned, and even mended.

An oak dresser, black with age, and laden with blue and white china, lurked in a shadowy corner.  Comfortable easy-chairs and odd, old-fashioned settees furnished the hall.  In the oriel window stood a spinning-wheel and a grandfather’s chair.  A great bowl of roses stood on the broad window-seat.  There were roses, indeed, everywhere, and books on every table.  But the crowning grievance of all was the cottage piano which John had sent to Lady Mary.  The case had been specially made of hand-carven oak to match the room as nearly as might be.  It was open, and beside it was a heap of music, and on it another bowl of roses.

“Ay, you may well look horrified,” said Miss Crewys to the canon, whose admiration and delight were very plainly depicted on his rubicund countenance.  “Where are our cloaks and umbrellas?  That’s what I say to Isabella.  Where are our goloshes?  Where is anything, indeed, that one would expect to find in a gentleman’s hall?  Not so much as a walking-stick.  Everything to be kept in the outer hall, where tramps could as easily step in and help themselves; but our poor foolish Mary fancies that Peter will be delighted to find his old home turned upside down.”

“My belief is,” said Lady Belstone, “that Peter will just insist on all this wooden rubbish trotting back to the attics, where my dear granny, not being accustomed to wooden furniture, very properly hid it away.  If you will believe me, canon, that dresser was brought up from the kitchen, and every single pot and pan that decorates it used to be kept in the housekeeper’s room.  That lumbering old chest was in the harness-room.  Pretty ornaments for a gentleman’s sitting-room!  If Peter has grown up anything like my poor brother, he won’t put up with it at all.”

“I suppose, in one sense, it’s Peter’s house, or will be very shortly?” said the canon.

“In every sense it’s Peter’s house,” cried Lady Belstone; “and he comes of age, thank Heaven, in October.”

“I had hoped to hear he had sailed,” said the canon.  “No news is good news, I hope.”